


Water

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ellie has watched over Hardy as he slept in a hospital bed twice before. It never occurred to her that someday he might return the favour.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written after S03E02, and set further ahead in the series. Ellie was almost attacked, and wakes up in hospital. Mind the content; there is nothing explicit, but the themes could be triggering.

 

 

There is light. Gentle noise. Ellie's eyelids flicker and she glimpses fluorescent tubing, notes the mint-green tinge characteristic of hospital rooms. 

_How am I...?_ _Wasn’t it dark?_

And water. Hadn't she just been near the water?

_Something about water…_

She blinks. Someone speaks. A dark blur hovers over her; as her vision clears, Hardy’s anxious face crystallises.

‘Ellie,’ he says in a cracked voice, and something hits her low in the gut. _Oh_. He only called her that when something terrible happened. 

And what _had_ happened?

_Darkness… birds… something about water._

Yes, there was something about water _._ Something she had to _remember…_

She registers something touch her hand. A comforting touch; familiar. She knows that hand, its form and shape, and she automatically grasps it in return, so it’s like they’re sharing a handshake.

This time, neither of them let go. 

‘How are you feeling?’ Hardy asks her.

‘Like shit,’ she croaks out, and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. His eyes are warm with relief – and wet, too, just a little bit. ‘What happened?’

‘Do you not remember?’

His voice is soft and gentle, unbearably so. She knows that tone. And his gaze… she’s only seen him look at her like this once before. It was just after he’d told her that Joe had murdered Danny. He’d touched her then, too, held out his arms like he was trying to catch her, hold her together as her world crumbled. She’s afraid, suddenly, and pulls out of his grip. She knows what this must mean.

‘No.’ Ellie pauses, and her lip wobbles. ‘I can’t...' 

Her head is throbbing. She reaches up and touches her hair. She finds a bandage there and hisses in pain.

‘Don’t,’ Hardy says, taking her hand away when she tries to pick at the bandages.

The fear inside her builds to a crescendo.

‘What happened?’ she demands. ‘Hardy – _what happened to me?’_

He wets his lip and speaks slowly, heavily.

‘You were attacked.’ 

Memories are beating at her consciousness like gulls’ wings. She winces at the blow, screws up her eyes, tries to think.

He continues, in a procedural way, 'you were knocked unconscious.'

_Like Trish._

‘Did he –' she gasps, tripped up by the word. 'He didn’t…?’

‘He…’ Hardy pauses and leans back, forming the words with some difficulty. ‘He was about to tie you up when I found you. He ran away – left a length of blue fishing twine next to you.’

She feels herself tremble. ‘But he didn’t -’

‘No. No. You’re okay.’

All the air leaves her lungs at once. Ellie bites her lip and stares at the ceiling. She can feel two tears drip down her cheeks.

‘He… he did take off your orange coat,’ Hardy says. ‘Too conspicuous, I think. We’ve taken it as bagged evidence. Other than that, you were… untouched.’

He’s rigid next to her. She knows him well enough to understand the effort this is costing him, staying still and calm and objective. Hardened, in other words.

Like a good detective.

A sense of violation settles upon her with gross familiarity. Ellie trembles, and speaks.

‘Water,’ she croaks. ‘There was something about water. I remember water.’

‘It happened near the docks.’

‘Yes – I was near the beach. I went there for something. I remember the waves... seagulls. And…’

Hardy leans forward. ‘Did you see his face?’

Her bottom lip trembles. ‘No. No, I didn’t see. I remember water and then – something hit me from behind. I can't remember – I can't remember – Alec, what did he _do_ to me?’

His first name slips out with the impassioned cry. Hardy starts forward. His hand falls upon her shoulder, a futile gesture of comfort.

‘It’s all right,’ he soothes. ‘He didn’t touch you. I promise. I was there.’

 She clings to him, finds his hand and squeezes, and he lowers his head until his forehead is almost touching hers. She’s afraid she’ll slip away and drown if he lets go.

‘You didn’t catch him?’

It is posed as a question, but she knows the answer. Hardy replies softly:

‘I couldn’t leave you.’

He runs his thumb back and forth on her hand. There is a wound on her wrist, a rope burn from where he'd been about to tie her up. Forensics have already been over the wound, matched it to the twine found next to her. The doctor had applied a simple antiseptic swab to the abrasion in the meantime.

For himself, he has the urge to kiss it, as if that will somehow make it go away. But he does not dare dishonour her with such a paltry gesture, and instead touches it gently, contemplating all the horror and violence it represents. 

‘He used a piece of driftwood to knock you out,' Hardy says, his gaze still trained on that small wound. 'I saw your coat on the ground – I knew you were nearby – and I saw him bent over you. When I called out he dropped the rope and ran.’

It feels as if someone is squeezing his heart in a vice. To think, if it hadn't been for that daft orange coat of hers...

‘Why can’t I remember?’ she whines. ‘It hurts – Alec, it  _hurts…’_

‘Don’t force it,’ Hardy tells her, suppressing a paroxysm. ‘You’ve got a bad concussion. Your memories may not return for some time.’

She lies still, blinking at the ceiling.

‘We – you and I – had a fight – didn’t we?’ she murmurs.

Hardy looks ashen. He nods.

‘I remember going off – leaving you – and there was something I meant to _do._ Something about _water._ ’

The extent of their argument hits her like a bolt.

‘I called you a -’ her eyes widen. She turns to him. ‘I said... and then I - but you came after me.’

He nods again.

‘Oh. Thank you.’

‘Don’t. You wouldn’t’ve gone off if I hadn’t shouted.’

They are interrupted by a doctor and a nurse. Hardy throws his head up and scowls at them.

'About time! I called to say she'd woken up ages ago,' he growls. 

The doctor tries to say something about other patients, but Hardy cuts him off swiftly. 'I told you that this patient has priority!'

Sensing there is about to be a fight, Ellie groans, 'oh, don't be a wanker,' and Hardy falls silent.

The doctor and nurse run some tests and quickly go over her condition, checking her alertness and inspecting her wounds. Hardy sits by her side, his arms folded. He taps his foot and flinches when the doctor or nurse makes too sudden a movement. When Ellie lets out a little hiss of pain as the doctor prods her head wound, he starts up.

'Oy, be careful!' he snarls, putting himself between them.

'Let them do their jobs, Hardy,' Ellie says, wincing. 

'I will, if they do them properly,' Hardy snaps. 

He broods until they're finished. The doctor promises to come and check on her soon.

'Aye, sure you will,' Hardy mutters.

'We'll leave you to finish your questioning now,' the doctor says with a nod, and he and the nurse depart. 

Hardy's foul mood slips from him as if it is a black cloak crumpling to the floor.

'My questioning...' Hardy echoes, and his lips twist.

'That doctor did not have gentle hands,' Ellie remarks. Hardy is staring at a crack in the floor. 'Well? Are you going to question me? I can't very well question myself.'

Her flippant tone fools neither of them. With a great sigh, Hardy begins again.

‘Is there anything at all you remember about the attack? Any details that could help us find him?’

Three lines crack her forehead.

_I was walking near the shore. It was dark. I could hear waves and birds. I was going somewhere. Was I crying?_

_And then..._

‘His footsteps.’ 

‘What about them?’ he asks.

‘I recognised them.’

Hardy takes his pen and pad from his pocket. He waits, poised.

‘They were – they sounded like – like Joe’s.’

He doesn’t react at first. His pen hovers just above the paper.

‘I’m sure I heard Joe’s footsteps. But that's - that's impossible, isn't it?'

Hardy tries to stay professional. ‘Tell me what happened next.’

‘I had this – panic. White-hot. I was sure Joe had come to kill me at last. Then I was hit.’

Hardy writes this down. His hand is shaky.

‘I – I think – I fell. I heard the gulls screaming. But I wasn’t unconscious. He took my coat off. I felt him touch me – I fought back, and he hit my head on the ground. Bashed it - twice.’

She waits until Hardy mechanically moves his pen to continue.

'Nothing but darkness after that. Darkness and water.'

'Can you remember anything at all about what he looked like? Clothes he was wearing, or...?'

'Gloves,' Ellie murmurs. 'He had gloves on. And they must've been good shoes. Good walking shoes, for going on the beach and on the cliffs. And I think - a black hat. But I'm not sure...'

'Did he say anything?'

'No. All I heard was water.'

'The waves?'

'Yes. And there was something about _water_. I had an idea - I think I was going back to the waterfall. From your house - to the waterfall.'

Her eyes screw up in frustration. 'Why was that so important? Why did I need to go to the waterfall? Why can't I _remember?'_

She pounds her fist on the bed as she says this and kicks her legs feebly.

'Shh,' Hardy mutters. 'S'okay. Don't force it. Let the memories come.'

She closes her eyes. 'Was I right, at least? So far?'

'The description of the attack matches your injuries, if that's what you mean. Initial blow to the back of the head with the driftwood, plus smaller sites of trauma. Abrasions on your wrists,' he says this heavily, and points. 'From the twine.'

Ellie starts to sit up.

'Take it easy,' Hardy says in alarm.

' _Don't_ baby me,' she snaps. Her head spins as she moves, but she can't bear to lie like this anymore. When he sees she will not be stopped, Hardy assists by adjusting the bed, until she's sitting up properly, her back propped against the pillows.

'Christ, my head,' she mutters. 

'D'you want me to call the doctor?'

'No. I need to think.'

She closes her eyes takes several deep breaths. In and out. Rise and fall. Ebb and flow, like the tide...

Her eyes open.

'Do you think it could've been Joe?'

Hardy's mouth is dry. 'It's a possibility.'

'Probably just paranoia, though, isn't it?' she admits. 'I've been afraid of him coming after me for so long. But I can't think - why did he choose _me_?'

Hardy closes the pad with a snap. He puts his head into his hand and grips the metal frame of the bed with all his might. She can feel he is wracked by tiny sobs.

'I'm sorry.' His voice breaks. 'I'm so sorry.'

She starts crying too. They reach for each other in the same fumbling way until Hardy has his forehead pressed to hers, his hands cupping her face, and her hands holding his wrists.

'I think I remember you,' she murmurs. 'I think I remember you finding me. You called my name - and it was so dark I couldn't see you. But I heard you.'

She reflects for a moment.

'Thank you for coming back.'

Hardy replies in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine.

'I'm never leaving you again. And he will never touch you again.'

She isn't sure whether he's talking about Joe or Trish's attacker, but either way she feels with cold certainty that he means every word.

In that moment, lost amidst the sad wreckage of their lives, both are profoundly thankful that, at least, they found each other. 

 


End file.
